I recall around the age of 8 or 9 realising that boys at my school could be slippered and that one day it might be me. I was quite certain that I would cry if it did; I didn’t think I would be as tough as some of my friends whom I had seen touch their toes and knocked off-balance as a resounding thwack landed on their shorts. The look on their faces left no doubt that it hurt, but they didn’t cry.
I attempted to find out how much the slipper might hurt by whacking my own bottom as best I could with one of my elder brother’s plimsolls. These were much larger than mine and much more like what was used at school. Effective self slippering is not easy.